


Lie to Me; Tell Me You Love Me

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Bilbo is So Done, Blood and Injury, Breaking Up & Making Up, Can't I Write Anything Happy?, Caring Thranduil, Courtship, Crying, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Elf Culture & Customs, Established Relationship, Fights, Hair Braiding, Hate Crimes, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, King Thorin, M/M, Men Crying, Misunderstandings, Mutilation, Protective Fíli, Protective Legolas Greenleaf, Protective Thorin, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Shame, Thorin Feels, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, big brother legolas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Bilbo walks in on something he was never meant to see. His mind immediately jumps to the worst-case-scenario, but the truth...the truth is far more horrifying than he ever could have imagined.





	Lie to Me; Tell Me You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING(s): This chapter deals with perceptions of attempted rape/non-con, blood, blood, and more blood, and violence. Please heed the tags and proceed with caution!!
> 
> Kidhuzurâl - "golden one"  
> Man ceril - "what are you doing"  
> Hîr vuin - "my lord"  
> gimlelul - "my brightest star"

“Hold still, Kidhuzurâl. If you would just _relax_ , I assure you that this would not hurt nearly as bad.” Bilbo halted outside the door to Thorin’s bedchambers—there was no doubt in his mind that that was his King’s voice, but whom was he speaking to?

“ _A-Ah_!” The mattress creaked as a young woman let out a particularly guttural moan, followed by an exclamation in muddled Sindarin, “Man ceril? _Man ceril?!_ That hurts!”

“You need to lay _still_!” Thorin’s voice boomed and the frightened girl let out another startled cry, “It does not bring me pleasure to hurt you in this way, but I will not hesitate to physically restrain you if I must.” Bilbo’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Hîr vuin Thorin!” She screamed, and Bilbo, unsure how much longer he could stand there and listen to this monstrosity, threw open the door to find…

His husband, fully clothed, was straddling a scantily-clad elven lass in the middle of their bed. Thorin held her face so tightly, Bilbo feared he would leave hand-shaped bruises upon her lovely, pale skin. But apparently, handprints are not the kinds of bruises that he _should_ have been concerned about. As she struggled in Thorin’s iron-grip, her white-blonde hair fell away from her shoulders and revealed a line of deep, purple bruises, beginning at her chin and stretching down to her collarbone.

It seemed like an eternity until Thorin noticed his presence in the doorway, but his reaction did not serve to make Bilbo feel better in the least. He leapt off of the bed, hands held high in a show of innocence as he backed away from the young woman…the young woman hurriedly made herself presentable, drawing her dressing gown closed over her svelte frame and rushing from the room as quickly as her feet would carry her. There were spots of blood on the bedsheets where she had just lain.

“Please, gimlelul…it is not what it looks like.” Bilbo choked out a broken laugh because clearly, the King under the Mountain must think him a fool, to fall for such a blatant untruth. “That woman was-,”

Bilbo held up a hand, silencing him, “I do not wish to know who that woman was.”

For the first time, Bilbo realized that there was blood on the King’s fingers. His stomach turned violently, and he worried that he might be sick. “What did you do?”

“W-What?” For the first time, Thorin seemed to notice the blood on his hands and he paled. “I did not…I did not _hurt_ her, if that is what you’re suggesting.”

“Of course not.” Thorin took one step toward him, causing him to take one step back, “Because forcing yourself on a hapless young elf is not _hurting_ her.”

Thorin looked as though Bilbo had just struck him across the face. “I would never…I did not force myself upon her, Bilbo.” He spat out, “I know that this looks… _bad_ …but you have to believe me when I tell you there’s a perfectly logical explanation-,”

“I walk in to find a half-naked elf sprawled out on the bed beneath my husband, who looks like she’s just seen an orc devour a small, fluffy animal. She’s covered in bruises that bear a suspicious resemblance to love-bites-,”

“I didn’t make those. I’ve been trying to tell you, that woman is-,”

“-And when she runs out of the room, crying and clinging to some semblance of modesty, I find _blood_ on the bed. _Fresh_ blood.” Bilbo continued, as if Thorin hadn’t tried to speak. “And my supposedly innocent husband has blood _dripping_ from his hands.”

Okay, so when he put it like that, it sounded a wee bit worse than just ‘bad’. But he truly was innocent! The blood was…how did he even manage to get so much blood on him, anyhow? Quickly, he makes his way over to the armoire, desperately tearing open drawers until he comes across a soft linen hand towel and uses it to clean the worst of the mess. He hadn’t realized that she was bleeding so heavily, but he supposed he should have expected as much, given the location of the wound…

Bilbo laughed brokenly, “Is that really all that you have to say to me?” And Thorin realized just how long he had been silent.

The King scowled, “I don’t know what more you want from me. You continue to throw accusations at me without allowing me a chance to explain myself. I am not the one at fault here,” he said, before making his way toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Really, dwarves and their manners—this conversation was by no means over, and yet, Thorin was already trying to run away.

“To find Tintalle.” The hobbit flinched; somehow, he knew that that was the young elven woman’s name, and hearing it fall from his husband’s lips at a time like this made fresh tears spring to his eyes. “I must finish what I started before-,”

Thorin was almost out the door when Bilbo whispered, “I thought that you loved me.”

The King paused for a moment, before spitting out, “This has nothing to do with you.”

Thorin did not wait for his husband’s response, taking off down the hall in the direction the guards claimed Tintalle had run. Bilbo turned slowly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he surveyed the state of the royal bedchamber. He did not want to think, after only one year of marriage, that his husband would seek out the pleasures of another…but he also knew that it was not uncommon for Kings to take concubines. It was especially common amongst the dwarves, should their One be of a different race…

Bilbo did not want to think Thorin capable of forcing himself upon an unwilling partner, regardless of how he felt of the elves as a race. And in their own bed…he ran his fingers along the soft cloth of their bedspread, remembering how Thorin had taken him to the seamstress in the weeks preceding the wedding so that he might have bedclothes and curtains and all other sorts of finery prepared so that he would come to think of Erebor as _home_. And now, those fine linens were stained with blood…

Collapsing onto the foot of the bed, he took great handfuls of the ruined fabric into his hands as he sobbed openly, “Oh, Thorin…What have you done?”


End file.
